


In Vino

by MrsHamill



Series: Sandman Crossover Project [9]
Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Multiple Crossovers, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Single malt scotch is almost as good as wine. Pairing: Dumbledore/Delirium</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino

**Author's Note:**

> For Neotoma, who requested it and my daughter, who wouldn't stop laughing at the thought of it.

* * *

There were two full bottles of the Macallan, a twenty-five year old single malt scotch and one of the finest things Muggles ever made, sitting on the small table next to his deep, warm, comfortable armchair. He'd started with four. The first bottle, empty, was on the floor next to his feet, and the second, getting damn close to being empty, was in his hand. He knew he had a glass somewhere, he knew he'd started out pouring the delightfully burning liquid into a glass, but he couldn't find it, so he just drank from the bottle. 

It wasn't as if anyone would be coming to help him finish, and he had a goal -- to finish all four bottles in that evening. He'd already decided not to use the standard anti-hangover spell. He wanted to _feel_ it. He wanted to feel like fewmets warmed over in the morning; nausea, pounding head, bloodshot eyes, the whole thing. Perhaps it would take away the memory of what he'd had to do this very night.

He knew he was sending Harry into a horrible situation. The child would be abused and treated abominably by the Durseleys. He wasn't even sure if sending Harry there would work to keep him safe from Tom, but if there was even the slightest chance of safety... He owed that much to Lily.

The second bottle officially dead, he gently placed it next to its mate on the floor and reached for the next. For some odd reason, the two bottles left had morphed into four bottles which were actually dancing on the table, their little legs wobbly and covered with rainbow stockings. Very odd. Perhaps it was the work of pixies.

"No, it's doing that cuz you are very, very drunk, funny old guy."

The voice, that of a young girl's, made him turn his head. It was indeed a young girl, or so he thought. Her hair was long on one side (and orange), short on the other (and green), and her attire, ragged fishnet stockings and a black leather jacket over a pink tutu, would never be allowed at Hogwarts.

"My dear young lady, I'm afraid I would have to turn your petition for admittance down unless you manage to dress more properly," he said, bemused at how his words slurred and dripped off his tongue. Being drunk was certainly not the proper way to deal with pain, but propriety could go to hell as far as he was concerned.

"Um, no, I don't really want to come here, I hate ties, and I already knows all the stuff you teach." One of her eyes was blue and the other, green. "I'm here cuz you came to me. I think that drinky-drink helped, at least a little. Have you seen my fishies?" As she spoke, tiny, multicolored fish appeared, singing merrily in a very high voice. More popped out of her mouth and from under her tutu. "But I don't think you should stay."

"Oh, my." He could feel the aura of powerful strangeness; his drunken state did not suppress that. "You're... one of the Endless. My Lady." Had he been capable, he would have stood and bowed.

She giggled. "Oh, you doesn't have to call me that! Funny old guy. But you really ought to go, you know."

"How'm I in... I mean..." She began to multiply, like in a warped mirror, and all but one of her began to float around, catching the small fish and eating them.

"No, you has to stop that now." Her voice was very earnest. "Peoples depend on you, like they do my big sister. She's very nice but she has very much responsibility. Like you does."

Responsibility. Yes, he had that, in spades. He had responsibility that he very much wished would go hang. "Maybe I want to stay here," he said petulantly, slumping in his chair.

"Me, I don't thinks that's a good idea." The replicas of herself finally devoured the last of the fish and sank back down, into her body. "He's going to _need_ you. And sos the others, too. It's just gonna get worst, you know. I know. I seen it." 

"There's nothing I can do," he insisted. "He wants the boy dead and for the most ridiculous of reasons."

She fractured again, like rain on a window. The colors of her hair reversed. "He's not a nice man," she agreed -- well, one of her agreed. The others began dancing around the room, though all of them stayed away from Fawkes who gave them a baleful stare. "But you savded the one he wants most."

"Are you so certain? I'm not." He stuck out his chin. No mere child -- even if she was one of the Endless -- would tell him what to do. "And now, he wants the Stone. He thinks he can use it for his own purpose."

"And you gots to keep him from doing that! It's important." She stamped her foot and the dancing replicas of herself floated up and away, through the ceiling.

He couldn't look into her mismatched eyes and not feel guilty, so he didn't. "I've done all I can do."

"No, you hasn't." She sighed in frustration. "I should get my big brother to tell you. You'd believe him."

"It's not that I don't believe you, dear child, I do. I just..." It was his turn to sigh. "I don't want to." He made a face at himself; how juvenile could one get? "I've already done enough. I've already sent the poor child into hell. I don't want to do it twice."

"No, you hasn't. You done the right thing. I know stuff too, my sisters and brothers don't think so, but I do. I can see stuff. An' I seen this. I has." She bent slightly and looked into his face and he found he could no longer look away. She seemed to be on the verge of tears, and her eyes -- he must have been mistaken earlier, for they were both electric blue -- were filled with pain. 

"What? What have you seen? Please..."

"I... I can't. I can't help. You can help, but I can't. Neither can my big sister. And there's lots that's coming. Against him. Against you. Against the other one, too. And it... And it..." She broke off and shivered. "He lives in my world, you know, but I can'ts control him at all." Her face was becoming pinched and almost desperate. "I don't like him. Why'd you make him do that?"

"My dear child," he whispered. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her, cause anyone, pain. But that's how he got here in the first place. 

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he shouldn't indulge in his selfishness any longer. Being strong was painful, but it was the right thing for him to do. He snorted. "Whichever way I go, I'm damned. But you are right."

"Um, yes, you do needs to leave, funny old guy. I know it. But could you pleeeeeeeeze leave soon? It..." she swallowed hard. "It hurts."

Albus Dumbledore reached out one shaking hand and caressed the child's face gently. "I'm sorry, my dear, so sorry." He wasn't sure who he was talking to, the child before him or the one he'd condemned to a horrible existence. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't have to look up the words to the alcohol-purging spell, he knew them and the anti-hangover one as well; he recited both of them then fell back into his chair, stone cold sober and completely alone. "So dreadfully sorry."


End file.
